


Paradox/Paradise

by Wordancer



Category: Man of Steel (2013), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordancer/pseuds/Wordancer
Summary: When the aliens visit Earth, Clark embarks on a surprising voyage of self-discovery.
Relationships: Clark Kent/General Zod, Dru-Zod/Clark Kent
Comments: 44
Kudos: 119





	1. Clark

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Basic Code](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640048) by [manic_intent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent). 



> Is anyone still reading in this fandom? Well, I hope somebody enjoys this. It's a little fragmented, but I think I'm done with it, so I'm posting it. This is inspired heavily by manic_intent's works in this fandom, which are amazing, and you should totally read them, if you want.

When aliens declare their presence over TVs and radios across the globe, the possibility that they are his kind of alien doesn’t register for Clark until two of them descend from their ship onto the dried out grass of the empty prairie. He stares up at them, imposing in their armored suits, and feels inadequate in his jeans and t-shirt. When following them to their landing site, he hadn’t really planned out what he would do beyond say hello and ask to be friends. He regrets that now. Well, he thinks as they come closer, might as well stick to the plan.

“Human.” The huge guy speaks first. “What is your purpose here,” he asks, but it sounds more like a demand for answers than a question.

“Uh, technically I’m not human.” Clark sheepishly scratches at his hair. He really should have thought this through in more detail. “My name’s Clark, or Kal-El, I guess.” He blinks as both of the aliens stiffen noticeably as they hear the name. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be from Krypton too, would you?” He grins hopefully at them. The woman clicks her tongue disapprovingly while the man stares at him in silence. Clark’s grin fades. “No?”

The man and woman share a look. “Come with us,” the woman says.

“Why?” Clark holds up his hands as they both frown at him. “I’ll come with you. I’d just like to know where we’re going first.”

“To our leader. He will decide how to deal with you.” The woman gestures to the ship ramp. “After you.”

They want to take him to their leader. Clark tamps down the urge to laugh hysterically. “Right. That makes sense.” He walks up the ramp and focuses on not feeling like a prisoner as the man and woman follow him. When they get inside, the man and woman take off their helmets, and he can get a better look at their features. They look just like him, just like a human, too. He supposes the similarity shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. He peers closer, but the only difference he can tell is that their features are studiously blank. Maybe Kryptonians don’t go much for self-expression.

The ship he boards is a smaller vessel that apparently links up to a larger one outside of the earth’s atmosphere. Clark is glued to the large window by the observation deck where he is led to stand. He can almost forget that he doesn’t know how this encounter will turn out as he watches the clouds fall away to the big dark of space. He can’t tell how fast they’re going, but he guesses it’s pretty fast.

Clark coughs. The man and woman look at him and say something to each other in a twisting, unfamiliar language. The woman then turns to him and says something else. Clark’s having some trouble breathing, so it takes him a second to realize she’s waiting for him to say something.

“Huh?” Clark wheezes a little bit.

The woman hands him a helmet, and he puts it on. He flinches back when she reaches out, but she just presses a button on the side of it. “This will translate for you.”

“Thanks.” Clark can hear his words come out mechanical and unfamiliar to him. He hopes the translation is accurate. He doesn’t want this whole trip to be ruined by some miscommunication.

A larger ship shows up through the glass, or what he assumes is glass, soon after. It’s too soon for Clark. He wants to keep going. He never thought he’d get to see space.

There are more people in the bigger ship, but Clark’s escort doesn’t stop to talk with any of them, leading him through a smooth, featureless corridor. He’s a little disappointed that there are no futuristic gadgets around, but he guesses that he shouldn’t base his expectations on sci-fi shows.

They take him to another, larger observation deck sort of room and lead him onto a raised platform where a forbidding guy in dark armor stands, somehow managing to be even more intimidating than everyone else on the ship, which is no small feat.

“General.” Clark’s escort greets the man on the platform in unison as they stop before him.

“Lieutenant.” The woman nods. “Car-Vex. What’s this?” Clark looks at the man and woman beside him, who stand at attention with straight backs and shoulders thrown back, and again feels like he should have put more thought into his appearance.

“He sought us out as we landed.” The man says.

“He claims to be an El.” The woman says.

The general’s eyes narrow. “Ship, please confirm our visitor’s identity.”

Clark jumps as a round disc separates itself from the wall and hovers in front of his face. A light, sort of like a laser, shines out at him, and he freezes, holding his breath. He’s pretty sure he is who he says he is, but as the little disc scans him, a worm of doubt burrows into him. He doesn’t really know anything for sure. For all he knows, the ship he crashed to Earth in got messed up by the landing, and his father’s AI fed him completely false information. If it even was his father’s AI after all.

The disc melds back into the wall, and Clark takes a break from worrying to wonder how it works. A mechanical voice says, “Identity confirmed. Greetings, Kal-El, only son of Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van, last known survivor of the House of El.”

“Hi.” Clark waves vaguely at the ceiling, not sure how best to talk to a ship. “You can call me Clark if you want. Kal-El is fine, but I’m not used to hearing it, so I can’t guarantee I’ll respond.” The ship doesn’t say anything back. Clark shrugs and rocks back and forth on his feet, feeling a little like an imposter. He feels like everyone around him is staring at him now, trying to measure his worth. Everyone seems to expect something from him. He’s not sure what comes with being an El, but he’s pretty sure he’s wildly unprepared to deal with it.

The general looks him up and down and manages to look even less impressed than before. “I am General Zod. This is Lieutenant Faora-Ul.” The general gestures at the woman, and then the man. “And this is Car-Vex.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Clark smiles at the three of them in turn, feeling ridiculous in his helmet and unsure if they can fully see his facial expressions through whatever clear thing is in front of his face.

“What brings you here, Kal-El.” General Zod looks completely neutral now, and Clark feels a little disappointed that this is how he’s meeting the people from his home world. He’d hoped they’d be happier to see him. That’s how he'd imagined it, anyway, in all his dreams of meeting people like him.

“Curiosity.” Clark blurts out, then reconsiders. That sounds a little cavalier. “Also, concern.”

The general’s neutral expression morphs into annoyance. “Curiosity.”

Clark knows that look. He’s seen it a lot as a reporter, usually just before he gets kicked out of a building. “Mostly concern. I saw your message to Earth, and I wanted to know what you were planning. Maybe I could help.” He grins amiably. “I mean, I know more about humans than you do, probably, so that could be useful. Also, what are you guys doing here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you. I thought I was the last of my kind. It’s exciting to know that I’m not! But why are you here? I mean, I think we’re pretty far from wherever Krypton used to be.”

Clark bounces on his toes nervously as the people around him look increasingly aggravated. He doesn’t know what he’s doing to offend them. He tries to look as friendly as possible, but all that does is make the general level a glare at him. He feels a little hurt by this reception, and he can feel his face fall a little bit even though he tries to smile through it. All his determined smiling does is make the general look angrier.

“I don’t have time for this. Car-Vex, deal with him.” General Zod turns away, dismissing them, and Car-Vex grabs his arm to guide him back out of the ship. Clark’s stomach drops. He never thought he’d get to meet people like him, and now that he has, it turns out they want nothing to do with him. He’d never considered that possibility.

“You guys are busy, huh?” Clark says while Car-Vex gets them on their ship back to Earth. Car-Vex doesn’t respond. Clark usually would respect the wishes of someone who clearly doesn’t want to talk, but this could be his last chance to talk to someone like him. He wants to make the most of it. He can’t allow himself to give up now when he might regret it for the rest of his life. “Could I visit some time when you have less going on?” Clark tries hopefully. Car-Vex raises an eyebrow at him. “You can’t always be busy. Don’t you have lunch breaks or something? Vacation days?” Car-Vex’s mouth twitches, which Clark takes as an encouraging sign, but it comes too late. The ship jolts, and they’ve landed.

Car-Vex leads him out back onto Earth, and they stand looking at each other for a drawn out moment. Clark doesn’t know why Car-Vex lingers when they’ve been so interested in getting rid of him up to this point. “Are you waiting for something? Is there some kind of farewell thing that you guys do? Should I be doing something right now?” Clark peers curiously up at Car-Vex, who sighs and looks pointedly at Clark’s forehead.

“I need that back.”

Clark’s hands fly up to his helmet. “Oh, right.” He pulls it off and hands it over. “Thanks for the loan.” Car-Vex turns and starts to walk away. “So I’ll see you later, then!” Clark calls after him. He can see Car-Vex shaking his head as he disappears back onto the ship. Clark watches the ship fly out of sight and sighs, scuffing the toe of his boot through the dirt. “That went well.”


	2. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark meets another general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I'm posting more. Seriously, will anyone read this? Anyone? Bueller?

It turns out that General Zod is here to destroy all humanity and redesign the planet to make it into a new Krypton, which explains why he wasn’t interested in Clark’s offer to help him deal with humans. Clark watches the news about it with a sinking feeling. He had hoped to come from a people who were less homicidal and more benevolent. He didn’t get the murderous vibe from his father’s AI, but maybe his birth parents were the exception to the rule.

He decides he’d rather embrace his lack of belonging than belong to a group that wants to kill everyone. With that settled, he works to come up with a way to approach the government and talk about protecting the planet. He knows that identifying himself as a fellow alien like the ones threatening to destroy everything is not the best idea, but he can’t think of any other way to get them to pay attention. He doesn’t know if he’s worth paying attention to, but he thinks he should at least try to help. As the only one with links to both sides of the conflict, he feels like there must be something more he could do. He’s pretty strong, if nothing else. Maybe someone needs help carrying stuff.

He needn’t have bothered working on a plan to contact the government, because the government comes to him. An unmarked SUV rolls up to the house two days after Clark returns from his visit to outer space, and Clark comes home from the grocery store to find his mom serving drinks to a general and two men in suits. Clark stands in the doorway with his grocery bags hanging at his sides and tries not to let his discomfort show. He doesn’t have a great track record with generals so far.

“Clark Kent?” The general stands and holds out a hand for Clark to shake. Clark sets all his grocery bags on the floor to do so, determined to be a polite host at the very least.

“That’s me.”

Martha Kent arranges a pile of napkins on the coffee table. “General Swanwick here has a few questions for you, Clark.”

Clark holds up the bag with the ice cream and frozen meals. “Can I put this stuff in the freezer first?”

Clark’s mom takes the groceries from him. “I’ll do that, Clark. You go talk to the general.” She pats him on the shoulder, and they share a concerned look before he joins the visitors in the living room.

The general’s aides spread out satellite pictures of him greeting Faora-Ul and Car-Vex outside their ship and of Car-Vex dropping him back off. Clark stares at the top of his own head in one of the photos, a little amazed at the quality of the high resolution images.

“Care to explain what you were doing here?” General Swanwick looks like he’s already decided what Clark was doing, but Clark gives it a shot anyway.

“I don’t know if you found this out already, but I’m an aspiring reporter. Aliens – that’s a pretty big scoop, right? I wanted to find out what their agenda was.”

“Did you find anything out?”

Clark could tell them how many people he saw on the ship, what their general looked like, what the layout was in the places where he walked. He could, but when he opens his mouth to do it, what comes out is, “No. They just wanted to find out why I was trying to talk to them. When they found out all I wanted was to ask them questions, they sent me back. I found out about their plans with everyone else.”

General Swanwick doesn’t look convinced. “Why did they take you onboard their ship? Why couldn’t they have done all that on the ground?”

Clark shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He notices his mom standing in the doorway, listening with concern.

General Swanwick sighs. “Well, whatever the reason is, we’d like to take you with us and see if you can make some headway in communicating with these guys. You’ve had more success in reaching out to them than our entire diplomatic staff.”

Clark hesitates. He did want to help, but he’s not sure this is the best way to do it. Then again, it’s not like he has other options. He shrugs. “I’d be glad to try, but I can’t promise I’ll do any better. I’m not really qualified to do that sort of thing.”

“We’d still appreciate your assistance.”

It doesn’t take long at all for Clark to decide what to do. “All right.” He nods, determined, and goes to hug his mom goodbye while the general and his aides get ready to leave.

“Clark,” she sighs disapprovingly.

“I’ve got to try, Mom. If I can do something to help, then I should.”

“Yes.” She straightens a few wrinkles out of his flannel shirt. “Yes, you should. I’m proud of you, and your father would be too.”

Clark grins. “Even though I got caught on satellite?”

“Don’t push it.” Martha busies herself with putting away the rest of the groceries. “You come back and let me know how it goes as soon as you’re done.”

“All right. Love you, Mom.”

Martha leans against the counter and looks out the window. “I love you, too, Clark.”

He doesn’t draw out the goodbye. He’ll be back soon enough. He’ll make sure of it.


	3. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark notes a troubling trend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for now. I'll post this story in pieces, when I have the time.

Clark doesn’t get the chance to find out if he’d be any good at diplomacy, because General Zod and company still won’t respond to anyone’s request to negotiate. Clark sticks around, trying to convince General Swanwick to keep trying to make contact, but it’s hard to do that when everyone on the base is gearing up to defend the planet from an alien invasion.

Clark’s stubborn attempts to keep the channels of communication open between the humans and Kryptonians come to an end after a reported sighting of a Kryptonian vessel landing in the desert.

“Go home, son.” General Swanwick greets Clark when he finds the general supervising a heavily armed group of soldiers boarding a plane and decides to try his luck at convincing the general to give diplomacy one last shot.

“Sir, I really think this is all some big misunderstanding, and if we could just talk to them -”

“The time for talking is over.”

“If you’d just let me try one more time -”

General Swanwick shakes his head. “I think the aliens have made clear that the only interaction they’re interested in having with us is war.”

An idea strikes Clark, and he brightens. “Let me go with you guys, then. I can communicate with them in person! That’s actually better, because in person you can pick up on a lot of body language cues that you can’t on the phone or a video screen.”

General Swanwick sighs. “No, Clark. You’re a civilian. Go home.” He boards the plane before Clark can respond, and aides block Clark from following.

“What is it with generals and sending me away,” Clark grumbles, frustrated. He watches the soldiers continue to load the planes. They’re going into a battle they can’t win, if General Zod and his soldiers are anywhere near as strong as Clark. Clark starts to walk off base to his car when he has another great idea. “Nothing’s stopping me from going by myself!” He whispers happily. He was in the room when the landing site was sighted, he knows where it is! He’ll just zip over there before any humans arrive and…he doesn’t know what he’ll do next. I’ll do my best, he thinks resolutely, that’s all.


	4. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark has a wardrobe malfunction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more of that fic nobody asked for!

“Watch out!” Clark yells at Car-Vex and Ro-Zar, but they look at him instead of the bomb racing toward them. They won’t move in time. Frustrated anger at the interruption fills him, and he uses the emotion to activate his heat vision. Two red beams leap out of his eyes at the bomb, following its trajectory shakily. It explodes in midair about half a mile above them, and Clark closes his eyes to stop them from burning anything more. He can hear shrapnel falling all around them with little pings as it hits armor and the ground. He hears bits of shrapnel tearing at his clothing as some of it bounces off of him, but none of it breaks the skin.

He keeps his eyes closed, waiting until he feels in control enough that it’s safe to open them. Remembering that everyone would probably have been fine even if the bomb did hit them transforms the remnants of his anger into mild embarrassment, and he reopens his eyes, making sure to look up at the sky just in case. The sun breaks free from cloud cover, and he takes a deep breath and smiles into the warmth of the light beating down on his face. He’s calm again.

When he looks back down to earth, he yelps as he notices bits of his shirt on fire, smoldering into ash. He rips it off and throws it to the ground, stomping it out. He slows in his stomping as his mind catches up to his actions and reminds him that the fire won’t hurt him either, and then it registers that the temporary camp has gone quiet. He looks up, confused.

General Zod stands a few feet in front of him, scrutinizing him. Clark jerks back a little in surprise. “Heeey, General.” He looks behind General Zod to find everyone else staring at him too. He grins sheepishly.

“What was that?”

“Look, I know you guys probably would have been fine, but why take that chance with a bomb, right? And just because I don’t want you killing the entire planet doesn’t mean I want you dead.” Clark shrugs.

General Zod’s eyes narrow, and Clark tilts his head, not sure why the news that Clark means his people no harm makes him look angrier than usual. “Your eyes, Kal-El. What happened with your eyes?”

“Oh.” Clark can feel his face fall. “You mean that’s not a Kryptonian thing?”

“No.”

Clark runs a hand through his hair and forces out a weak laugh. “Man, I knew I was weird, but I didn’t think I was that weird.” General Zod doesn’t look amused. “I’m not going to, like, use it on anyone,” Clark says earnestly.

General Zod snorts and turns to Car-Vex, who walked closer while they talked. “Get him some clothes.”


	5. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark changes his outfit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a makeover.

Car-Vex leads Clark onboard their landing vessel without comment. Clark grows increasingly self-conscious about his own shirtlessness, although none of the crew seem to care or even notice. Car-Vex stops in a small alcove and starts interacting with some sort of console. “Hold still.”

“Huh?” Clark freezes as a line of light scans down his body.

“The ship is getting your dimensions to make your armor.”

“Armor?” Clark repeats, feeling a little blindsided. “Thank you, but I don’t think we need to go that far. A shirt will do.”

Car-Vex turns to look intently at him. “We do not wear shirts,” he says forcefully.

Clark holds up his hands in surrender. “Whoa. All right, I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“Your garments are excessively impractical.” Car-Vex turns back to the ship interface.

“Thanks.” Clark rolls his eyes. “Your armor is boring.”

Car-Vex stops entering data into the console, or whatever he’s doing pressing those buttons. “Boring?”

“Not bad boring, just. It’s all grey and black and there’s nothing…” Clark shrugs. “fun about it.”

Car-Vex turns and frowns. “Fun.”

“Yeah, you know, ha ha, interesting, something you enjoy? Fun?”

“How does that apply to clothing?”

Clark’s fashion sensibility doesn’t extend far beyond jeans and a t-shirt. “I don’t know, man. Color, though. Color would be a start. Also, comfort.”

“Ship, can you create armor that meets Kal-El’s requirements for fun?”

“Records show a marked difference between military guild standard issue and traditional garb of the House of El.”

“Oh, good.” Clark breathes a sigh of relief, then winces as Car-Vex frowns at him. “Not that your armor isn’t perfectly fine.” He waves a hand at Car-Vex. “For you.” Clark can only hope the ship means that his ancestors were a little less doom and gloom in their tastes.

“Very well. Synthesize armor in the El tradition, provided that it does not interfere with utility.”

“Please stand by.”

Clark follows Car-Vex’s lead and stands around, waiting for whatever is about to happen next. “How long does this usually take? Should we leave and come back?” Clark asks, but Car-Vex doesn’t answer, too busy staring at the wall. With nothing better to do, Clark joins in on the wall contemplation session until the section of wall they’re both watching shifts and slides away to reveal a suit of armor that’s a similar shape to the ones the rest wear, if a little lighter and less intimidating looking, but shape is where the similarities end.

Clark walks closer to inspect it, tracing the intricate designs that embellish every plate and converge on the chest plate where the s-shaped crest of his family sits. Clark is glad he knows enough to recognize that symbol, at least. The entire outfit is a dull gold color, subtle enough to not stand out, but colorful enough to give off a warm gleam. A body suit made of a combination of metallic colors hangs next to it. It’s not as brightly colored as the red and blue one his parents sent with him, but he likes it all the same.

Clark grins at Car-Vex. “Awesome.”

“Hmph.” Car-Vex turns around and leaves the room.

“Aww, I didn’t mean it like that!” Clark calls after him. “Your armor is cool, too! Hey, Car-Vex! Car-Vex?” Clark searches the armor for buckles. “How do I put this on?” Car-Vex doesn’t return to help.

After some trial and error, and the help of the ship, Clark manages to put on the full suit of armor. Feeling ridiculous, he strides back out of the ship. Crew members turn to stare as he passes by, and it doesn’t help his sense that he isn’t wearing this Kryptonian stuff the right way despite the ship’s assurances. Nobody tells him how to fix it, though, so he reasons to himself that his mistakes can’t be that bad.

When he steps back onto the desert ground, the only people still standing by the ramp are the general and the lieutenant. They turn as one to watch him draw closer with strange expressions on their faces.

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” Clark shifts uncomfortably as they continue to stare. “Is it that bad? I’m wearing it wrong, aren’t I?”

“No,” Faora-Ul says blandly.

Clark looks down at himself. Huh. He hadn’t expected the armor to shine that much in the sun. “Oh, I see. It’s pretty bright, isn’t it? Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it that hard to look at me.”

General Zod grunts and goes back to surveying the desert, and Faora-Ul looks inexplicably amused. Clark has a feeling she’s laughing at him. That’s okay, he decides. Laughter is healthy. It helps ease tension, which can only be a good thing in this situation.


	6. Dru-Zod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru-Zod considers the new addition to his crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, a change in POV! Annnd here's where we really start to diverge from canon, folks.

Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van’s son is stunningly beautiful despite the circumstances surrounding his birth. He descends the ship like an ancient holovid character come to life in the traditional El armor, decorative but still functional, that burns bright gold in the daylight like a miniature sun. The light beaming down on this arid stretch of land seems to follow Kal-El like he is a beloved child. Kal-El shows no sign of noticing the symbolic importance of the way the light favors him or the way the color and design of his armor proclaim him to be the highest ranking Lord of the House of El, and therefore the highest ranking Kryptonian. Instead, Jor-El’s son merely shows discomfort at the attention his appearance brings.

Dru-Zod finds it annoying that Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van have managed to produce such violently attractive, aggressively good-natured offspring without the help of genetic manipulation. Kal-El is even more appealing than Jor-El in appearance and even milder in temperament. Dru-Zod would not have thought it possible. If Jor-El were here, he would say it was proof that genesis chambers were not necessary. Dru-Zod would counter argue that after generations of the best genetic reconfiguration money can buy, any El child would by default be born with countless advantages. Of course, Jor-El is no longer alive. Dru-Zod scowls at the far-off dunes. So they are left with Jor-El’s improbable, heretical, oblivious, annoyingly well-intentioned son following them around, spouting the same tired arguments for peace and friendship like nothing has changed since the days before Krypton fell, like this is not their last chance to save their species and culture.

Dru-Zod keeps meaning to drive Kal-El off, but each time he resolves to do so, he remembers a long list of higher priority tasks that demand his attention. He knows that his responsibilities include the preservation of Kryptonian society, and like it or not, Kal-El represents Dru-Zod’s last chance to preserve one of the most important Kryptonian families. Kal-El shows no indication that he shares his father’s scientific aptitude, but he is the last of the Els, and Dru-Zod surprises himself with the intensity of his desire to preserve what he can of their legacy. Kal-El’s presence seems more important now that there are so few of them left, more important than the nature of his birth and more important than the many disagreements Dru-Zod can predict they will have, especially concerning the humans.

Where Jor-El’s words and actions often provoked Dru-Zod into a rage, perhaps due to how well they knew each other, Kal-El’s behavior merely inspires resignation to the inevitable and irritated tolerance. Kal-El acts according to his nature, in keeping with the characteristics of his house, characteristics that will serve their people well once the fighting ends and the time comes to rebuild. Dru-Zod has had many years to relive that fateful day with Jor-El in his memories, and he knows in a way he didn’t before that Kal-El, like his father before him, would not dream of killing anyone, including Dru-Zod and his crew. The possibility will simply not occur to him.

Dru-Zod does not need to engage Kal-El in combat, merely to limit opportunities for interference in Dru-Zod’s plans. Kal-El may be as insubordinate as his father, but he also shares his father’s distaste for violence. He will hesitate before engaging in any fight and pull every punch. Dru-Zod can read the signs in Kal-El’s gentle bearing, as though he fears any sudden movement may harm the fragile life forms native to this planet. Dru-Zod cannot work up much ire about the way Kal-El disagrees with him at every turn. It is clear that Kal-El means no harm.


	7. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark tries his hand at diplomacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, still updating.

Things come to a head soon after the missile that Clark neutralizes. Dru-Zod is incensed that the humans have begun to act aggressively towards them, and he begins to discuss the options for retaliation with Faora-Ul in the desert.

“Um, excuse me?” Clark says as Dru-Zod and Faora-Ul debate where to strike first. “Hello?” He steps in between them. “How about before you go around killing everyone, I talk to them and see if they’ll let you live here too.”

Dru-Zod scowls at him. “They’re not going to.”

“How do you know?” Clark asks.

“Experience.” Dru-Zod says.

Clark crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, I know that humans are capable of greatness if you give them the chance to show it, so. Give them a chance.”

“Fine,” Dru-Zod bites out to Clark’s surprise.

“General -” Faora-Ul begins.

“Let the fool try,” Dru-Zod says. “It will prove to him that these humans are not worth his loyalty, and when he fails, we can proceed without further objections from him.”

Clark snorts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Also, not a fool.” Clark rethinks his words. “Actually, I probably am a fool. But I’m a fool who’s going to try.”

General Zod and Faora-Ul grace him with nearly identical looks of disgust before turning to board their ship. After a moment, Clark trails after them. “So, I guess you’re not going to meet the soldiers in battle after all?” Clark asks brightly. “Great! Can I use your comms to get in touch with the government?” He is met with no response. “Guys?”

Dru-Zod stalks off down the hall, but Faora-Ul sighs and gestures to Clark to follow her. “What is your plan?” She asks as they walk.

“…plan?”

“Your plan to get the rulers of this planet to agree with what you say.”

“Oh.” Clark really should have thought this whole thing through a little bit more. “I guess I’ll…say hi, introduce myself, and ask to be friends?” It sounds pretty awful spoken out loud. The lieutenant looks horrified.

“That’s a terrible plan.”

Clark draws himself up to his full height. “Not as bad as your plan. At least with mine nobody gets killed.” They get to the comms room, and Faora-Ul shows him how to set up a sort of video chat session. Clark contacts the humans who first connected with the ship, since their contact information is what is saved into the system, and the irritated face of General Swanwick soon appears on the screen.

“Clark?”

“Hi, General!” Clark waves. “I’m here to speak on behalf of the Kryptonians in a negotiation for a peace treaty.” Off to the side, Faora-Ul snorts but doesn’t say anything.

The General’s eyebrows rise skeptically. “You’ll understand that I’m having a hard time believing you there, Clark.”

“Here, this is Lieutenant Faora-Ul, she’ll vouch for me.” Clark waves at Faora-Ul, who grudgingly walks into view.

“He has our permission to attempt to negotiate a treaty with you,” Faora-Ul says.

General Swanwick’s eyebrows climb even higher. “Well, all right, then. Let me get you in touch with the President.”

Clark blinks. “Whoa, the President? I mean, sure, yes, let’s take it right to the top, why not?”

The screen jitters and suddenly links up to the face of the President of the United States, sitting next to the leader of the United Nations and a group of military officials in the oval office.

“Uh, hey, hi, Mr. President, sir.”

The President squints at the screen in confusion. “Son, what are you doing up there?”

“Well, I’m an alien, too. Surprise.” Clark winces as all faces instantly turn from concerned to suspicious. No going back now. He’s just declared his identity to the President and what looks like most of the military leaders in the country. “But I love the Earth, and humanity, and would really like to find a way for us to coexist peacefully.” The expressions of the President and general don’t change. “I’d like to negotiate a treaty?”

The President gives him a considering look. “You don’t sound too sure of that, son.”

“I guess that depends on you,” Clark says.

“It depends just as much on those Kryptonians you claim relation to,” the President says. “If they’re set on destroying the world as we know it, well, there’s not much of a place to go to from there.”

Clark cocks his head to the side. “What if we just terraformed a part of the world? Say, a part that nobody really uses?”

“What part do you suggest? They all seem pretty full to me, at the moment.”

“What about Antarctica?” Cloud asks at random. “You guys already share it with the rest of the world, right? How about sharing it a little more?”

“Hmmm.” The president looks at the others in the room. “Give us a minute to talk things through, and while we do so, why don’t you get that general of yours on the line? No sense in having to repeat ourselves.”

“All right.” Clark watches the screen go blank.

“What is this Antarctica of which you speak?” Faora-Ul asks.

“It’s a nice place, real empty, kind of cold,” Clark says. “But that won’t bother you guys, right? You can make your own little world on it, and nobody would bother you.”

“General Zod will have to approve any offers made,” Faora-Ul says, but she looks like she’s taking his suggestion seriously in a way she hadn’t before. She holds her comm up to her mouth. “Sir?”

Clark hears the faint sound of Dru-Zod on the other end. “What?”

“We may have a treaty offer to consider after all.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Faora-Ul drops her hand and looks at Clark. “This could all still go sideways.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Clark says, feeling a faint upwelling of hope as Dru-Zod stalks into the comm room.

“What is the offer?” Dru-Zod asks.

“A space of our own in a place called Antarctica. And nothing has been officially offered yet. We are waiting to see if they will,” Faora-Ul says.

Dru-Zod grunts and looks at Clark. “This had better not be a waste of my time. And why should we accept a paltry offer of a little space on this planet when we could have the whole thing?”

“Well, what are you going to do after you terraform? Start having kids? Not to pry or anything, but there aren’t that many of you. Even if you all had, like, five kids each, you still wouldn’t need that much land. I’m pretty sure you can share the planet with the people who are already here.”

“Our society doesn’t work that way. We use a genesis chamber to produce offspring.”

“What’s a genesis chamber?”

“This ship carries one.”

“Wait. If you all can have kids whenever you want, what are you waiting for?”

“A home for them to grow.”

“Oh.” Clark thinks about the Kent farm. “Yeah, homes are important.”

The general fixes him with a piercing stare. “We also need to find the codex.”

“Codex?” Clark’s heard that before. “I’ve got one of those. I think.”

“Do you.”

Clark looks at the naked desire that appears on the general’s face for a second before it quickly disappears under a mask of neutrality, and he suddenly knows how to fix everything. “Yeah, sure, I’ve got one of those. You can have it if you want.” He shrugs. “If you promise not to wipe out all life as we know it on Earth.”

The general glares at him. “I could just take it.”

Clark smiles mildly. “I could just destroy it.” He doesn’t really think he could destroy anything he has left from his birth parents, but the general doesn’t need to know that.

General Zod looks horrified. “Rao save us, you are worse than your father. I did not think it possible.”

“Thanks,” Clark says, sarcastic even though he does feel a little proud.

“Fine. We won’t use the world-building engine.”

“Great! We can put that in the treaty.” Clark struggles not to let the exhilarating feeling of triumph show. He knows better than to count his chickens before they hatch. The general just scowls at him and grunts before signaling Faora-Ul to reestablish communication with Earth.


	8. Dru-Zod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark does an interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dru-Zod. All his plans, foiled.

While treaty negotiations are in progress, Dru-Zod spends a good deal of time considering how to put his best foot forward with the humans of Earth. “We must show these humans that we are a force to be reckoned with, so that they don’t harass us. If they fear us, they’ll be more likely to leave us in peace.” Dru-Zod paces back and forth on the command bridge, rubbing the slight beard on his chin as he thinks out loud.

“That may be difficult to achieve, sir.”

Dru-Zod looks at Faora-Ul, who nods at the video currently playing on her console. He strides over to find Kal-El’s ridiculous face plastered all over one of the human news reports online. The number of views tracked below the video is over a billion. Dru-Zod groans and rubs at his temples. “What has Jor-El’s impossible offspring done now.” He sighs and signals to Faora-Ul. “Play it from the beginning.”

Faora-Ul turns away to hide her smile, but Dru-Zod has already seen it. “Yes, sir.”

“So you’ve heard reports of the intergalactical treaty world leaders are signing with the aliens, and you have questions. Look no further, because we’ve got answers! Welcome to the alien puppy interview! I’m your host, Mark, and here in the studio with us today is a real-life alien! His name’s Kal-El, though up to this point, people on Earth have been calling him Superman. Wave to the good people of earth, Kal-El!”

Kal-El looks up into the camera from where he’s sitting on the ground and waves with a foolish grin. He’s wearing his red and blue bodysuit without any armor. Dru-Zod glares. Kal-El could not look less intimidating if he tried. “Hi everyone! It’s nice to meet you. I hope we can all be friends.”

“What is this nonsense.” Dru-Zod mutters as someone offscreen hands Kal-El a small, wriggling animal to Kal-El’s apparent delight.

“Nooo, so cute!” Kal-El holds the creature up to his face, and it licks him, paws batting at his chin. Dru-Zod twitches at the sound of a quickly muffled coo and looks behind him to find most of the crew members currently on duty looking over his shoulder. Nobody will meet his eyes, and he grumpily turns back to the screen when his glare fails to convince them to disperse.

Two more of the small creatures are handed to Kal-El, and they tumble, squirming, into his lap. “Ahhh I can’t!” Kal-El lets out a strangled little yell and sweeps them all into his arms.

“So, Kal-El, first off, welcome to Earth.”

Kal-El looks earnestly into the screen. “Thank you, Mark. It means a lot to be welcomed here.”

“Do you have any plans to, say, take over the planet?”

“No, thanks.” Someone hands Kal-El a fourth creature, and he croons happily. “But puppies. I may have to take all your puppies.” One of the creatures sits on its hindquarters and yips at him. Kal-El covers his mouth with his hands, eyes wide, and then sweeps the creature up to nuzzle its nose, making a series of incoherent sounds. The creature bites at Kal-El’s nose, and he laughs.

“Ah, a sight that is certain to strike fear in the hearts of all who behold it,” Faora-Ul says dryly. Dru-Zod turns and walks away in disgust.


	9. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark deals with a new aspect of his alien biology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A plot, I have one. I promise. I have at least 50% of a plot.

It takes months before the treaty gets hammered out, and Clark isn’t allowed to be present for the negotiations. He follows along by watching the news at home until the Kryptonians finally get their swathe of land on Antarctica. Then General Swanwick comes back with a request that Clark be their unofficial go between for the government and the new settlement. Clark says yes, and tries not to feel too uncomfortable that the government now knows his secret identity. Clark doesn’t know how the Kryptonians feel about the arrangement, but when he shows up at their border, they let him onto their land without much reaction besides the usual frowns.

Clark likes visiting the Kryptonian base camp. Each time he arrives, some new improvement or addition is there for him to explore. It becomes habit for him to visit once a week, and the strange Kryptonians gradually stop scowling at him and start looking at him with varying levels of mild to intense exasperation instead, which he counts as progress.

Some deeply hidden part of him relaxes when he visits, and he feels at ease in a way he didn’t know he could. He doesn’t want to lose their tolerance of his presence, so he steps carefully, making sure only to visit for a few hours at a time and never during the days of the month when his curious new sickness hits. He considers asking one of them about it more than once, but each time discards the idea for fear that they will send him away for good this time, finally deemed too imperfect, too damaged to be allowed among them.

He thinks the sickness is probably a result of his being born naturally, and he doesn’t want to remind them of it after the struggle of getting them to accept him in spite of the circumstances around his birth. He tells himself it’s probably allergies to something they brought with them and dismisses his worries that it could be something more serious. He’s coping so far, and it only lasts for a day or two each time before he’s healthy again.

He doesn’t like the idea that he would be allergic to his home planet. He doesn’t like how it makes him different, even among people who should be the same as him, doesn’t like how his unmodified genes have kept him from belonging again, this time to the only group of people he had believed he would belong to without question.


	10. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark learns a new language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting somewhere!

Clark finds, after a time, that he acclimates quickly enough to the changed atmosphere in New Krypton that he can take his helmet off and be comfortable. This leads to the problem that without the helmet to translate, he can’t understand anything people are saying. He finds Faora-Ul overseeing the progress setting up the new genesis chamber and asks, “Can I learn Kryptonian?”

“You may access language files at any time and teach yourself.”

“Oh, really? How do I access them?”

Faora-Ul blinks. “You do not know.” She turns and walks swiftly away.

Clark scratches his head and calls after her, “Uh, sorry, did I offend you?”

Faora-Ul turns and gives him an impatient look. “Follow me.”

“Right.”

She brings him to a console artfully blended into the wall of the ship and shows him how to open the language learning program. “Now you choose a word or sentence you would like to understand, and the ship will explain it to you.”

“Uh, El.”

Faora-Ul gestures impatiently at the console. “Ask the ship.”

“Ship, what does El mean?”

“El is an ancient Kryptonian family name. The symbol for it came to stand for hope due to the commonly held beliefs and accomplishments of members of the House of El.”

“Huh.” Clark grins at Faora-Ul. “Guess that means I’d better start doing some hoping, huh?”

Faora-Ul looks down her nose at him and sweeps away without answering.

Clark sighs. “Guess I’ll start by hoping we can be friends someday.”

“I’m sorry, your query was unclear. Please restate.”

“No, nevermind.” Clark runs a hand through his hair and smiles ruefully. “What’s the Kryptonian word for friend?” The ship answers his questions rapidly and easily in a way that none of the Kryptonians have, and Clark quickly loses himself in his excitement at the chance to learn.

After a few lessons, Clark runs into Dru-Zod in the corridor outside the room where he is learning Kryptonian. “Hello, General,” he says shakily in the new language, focusing on speaking as clearly as he can.

Dru-Zod halts in his stride to take a second glance at Clark. “You are learning our language,” he says, and he speaks more slowly and carefully to Clark than he had been speaking just a minute ago to the aide at his side.

“Mine, too,” Clark says.

Dru-Zod’s lips quirk before falling back to their neutral position. “Fair enough,” he says, and then he continues on his way. Clark grins with triumph at his success in communicating, and he resolves to practice more with as many Kryptonians as will let him.

More weeks pass, and Clark keeps visiting New Krypton, though there isn’t much time to talk with anyone as they are busy with building their new home. Still, he likes to walk around and see what’s new. On one such visit, the base is empty but for him, no matter where he goes to look for someone else. This turns out to be for the best, as Clark’s monthly spell of weakness hits him without warning. He staggers and holds his hand against the wall in an attempt to stay upright, and that’s when he thinks he hears something. “Oh no,” he whispers, not wanting anyone to see him in his clearly unwell state.

Nobody comes down the corridor to see him, and after a few moments of breathing slowly, Clark feels settled enough to go to the central observation deck and see who has arrived. He stumbles down the hall until he gets there, hoping that he can find and avoid whoever it is. Once there, he finds most screens still blank, and furrows his brow in puzzlement as he looks from screen to screen.

A flicker of movement catches his eye in the screen showing the genesis chamber, and he finds four strangers sneaking into the room. He leans closer and tries to make out who they are. They’re dressed in dark clothing unlike the bodysuits the Kryptonians wear, and they look around like they’re sneaking in. One of them goes to the central console and starts pressing buttons, and Clark gasps. “They’re here to sabotage it,” he whispers.

Clark can’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds at a time, and his vision blurs with each step. He sways from side to side, determined to get to the genesis chamber. He comes into the room to find them tinkering with the control panel. With a shout, he charges forward, feet sliding on the metal floor and arms wind milling to keep his balance. The fever has sapped his strength, but he is determined to protect the unborn future generations of Kryptonians or die trying.


	11. Dru-Zod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru-Zod receives an unexpected alert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh.

Dru-Zod is not expecting the ship to send him an urgent message as he and his crew return victorious from battle with the latest batch of Earth criminals attempting to trespass on Kryptonian territory. He accepts the link to the home base, and a video loads onto the screen in the command center as Faora-Ul pilots them into the air.

“An attack is under way in the genesis chamber,” the ship informs Dru-Zod as he stares at the footage of four unknowns examining the control panel to the chamber. The entire room falls silent as everyone stops to stare at the screen.

Their battle was a diversion. Dru-Zod growls with rage. “Faora-Ul, get us back there as fast as you can.”

“Yes, General.” His crew gets back to work, now with a frenzied energy to their movements.

“Ship, why is defensive weaponry not engaged?” Dru-Zod scans the home base diagnostics.

“The control room has taken serious damage. The system is corrupted.”

“Is anyone nearby?”

“Yes, communication logs indicate the entry of Kal-El shortly before loss of function.”

“Can you link a comm channel to him?”

“Not at this time.”

Dru-Zod grips the back of his chair and leans over it to stare as Kal-El stumbles into view. Clark tries to punch at one of the intruders with a swinging fist but overbalances and falls to the ground, catching the attention of the four hostiles. “Ship. What’s wrong with Kal-El?”

“Diagnostic scan in progress. Please stand by.” A window with a vitals chart loads onto the screen while Dru-Zod watches two men circle Kal-El while the other two continue to fiddle with equipment. He grits his teeth when one kicks Kal-El in the stomach experimentally and Kal-El does nothing but curl up in pain. Kal-El’s fighting technique had been weak when facing Dru-Zod to protect the Earth, but not this weak.

“Scans show that Kal-El, also known as Clark, is an omega-”

“A what.” Dru-Zod forces out past his shock. He can hear people mutter to either side of him, but they grow quiet as the ship repeats itself.

“An omega.”

“I see. Go on,” Dru-Zod says, seething with frustration. Curse you, Jor-El, you and your heretical ideas, he thinks with savage fury.

“Elevated temperature and unsteady heartbeat indicate that he is in the middle of a heat cycle.” Dru-Zod’s eyes grow round with surprise. “Historical records indicate that ancient omegas lost physical strength and equilibrium while in heat and experienced difficulty maintaining higher cognitive functions.”

Dru-Zod rubs a hand over his face and glares at the screen, where Kal-El has pulled himself to his feet and thrown himself at one of his opponents. He watches with bated breath as Kal-El manages, almost in spite of himself, to knock the man unconscious by making the criminal overbalance and knock himself out against a wall. The second man grabs Kal-El by the shoulders and throws him back on the ground. Kal-El falls too easily. The back of the command chair creaks under Dru-Zod’s hand as his fingers clench down on it.

“How long until we’re back,” Dru-Zod bites out.

“Ten minutes.” Faora-Ul answers him, focused intently on the flight controls.

“Not good enough.” Dru-Zod’s lips draw back in a snarl as Kal-El gets kicked again, this time in the head. “Do what you can to go faster.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man says something and kicks Kal-El a third time. “What are they saying?”

“Audio engaged.” The ship says.

Dru watches as Kal-El rolls onto his back and pulls himself up against the wall. “Not going to let you hurt them,” Kal-El breathes as he sways on his feet.

“Oh, yeah?” The man pulls out a knife with a serrated edge. “And who’s going to stop me? You?”

“Quit playing around, Rob,” another man, probably the leader, yells. “Get rid of him.”

“Yeah, boss!” Rob smirks at Kal-El and steps forward, only to fall on his back as Kal-El rushes at him and pushes him down. Dru-Zod grimaces at Kal-El’s terrible technique as they roll on the floor, Kal-El trying to pull the knife away from Rob’s hands. His erratic movements, likely stemming from muscle weakness, actually help him catch Rob by surprise and wrest the knife out of his hands. Kal-El turns it around and clumsily attempts to hit Rob’s forehead with the handle, managing to knock Rob out on the second try. Dru-Zod scowls. He needs to teach Kal-El how to fight.

Kal-El gets to his feet, knife clenched in one fist, the other pushing on his knee to hold himself upright, and breathes heavily. He lists to one side until he overbalances and has to scramble to get his feet back under him. Dru-Zod’s jaw clenches. These intruders are scum, hardly worth noticing, and if Dru-Zod was there the battle would already be over.

Kal-El stumbles at the remaining two, knife held loosely in his hand, and the leader barks a harsh, mocking laugh. “Thought you aliens were better fighters than this,” he says. “Take care of it, Mick. We got bigger things to worry about.”

The man next to the leader, presumably Mick, is taller and broader than Kal-El, and he immediately rushes at Kal-El with knives in both hands. They grapple for a moment before Kal-El cries out in pain, and the high pitched sound of it makes everyone on the ship with Dru-Zod flinch. Kal-El jumps to the side, revealing a knife embedded in his shoulder. Mick steps back with a victorious grin, and Dru-Zod entertains a brief but intensely satisfying fantasy of crushing Mick’s face with his bare hands.

“Faora-Ul.”

“Five minutes, sir.”

“Make it three.” Dru-Zod growls. “Ship, what’s that knife made of?”

“Analyzing,” the ship replies.

Kal-El has managed to jump onto Mick’s back, and Mick retaliates by slamming Kal-El repeatedly against the wall. The knife drops out of Kal-El’s hand, and a crushing dread grips at Dru-Zod as Mick starts slashing wildly at Kal-El’s sides in an effort to dislodge him. The knives are breaking the skin. Kal-El holds on doggedly, an arm curled around Mick’s throat, making little whining noises each time Mick cuts at him. Each whine tugs at something in Dru’s gut, filling him with a restless killing intent, and he can tell it’s having a similar effect on the crew judging by the collective twitching and the way Car-Vex stands and begins to pace.

Eventually Mick falls to the floor, unconscious, and it’s just Kal-El and the leader. “Get up,” Dru mutters as the leader narrows his eyes and slowly advances on Kal-El’s still form. Kal-El pulls himself onto his knees with a pained grunt, and the sight of Kal-El’s ragged and bloody sides fills Dru with a blinding hatred for these intruders. He will personally see to it that they regret their actions.

“Entering the atmosphere,” Faora-Ul says, and the ship vibrates slightly as the friction of the air pushes at it. Dru-Zod clenches and unclenches his hands, yearning to snap the neck of the man advancing on Kal-El.

Kal-El holds out a hand to block the leader in vain as the leader knocks Kal-El’s arm out of the way and throws Kal-El against the glass wall of the genesis chamber. Kal-El slides down against the glass, head tipping back against it to bare his throat, and Dru hisses out a breath past clenched teeth. An omega. Dru thinks back to his childhood lessons on ancient Kryptonian society. No aggressive instincts. No killing intent. An omega and an El besides. Zero inclination toward violence.

The leader steps closer to look down at Kal-El with disdain before grabbing him by the throat and pulling him up to eye level. Dru growls out a string of curses.

“Won’t…” Kal-El whispers in a strained voice. “Won’t let you…”

The leader slams Kal-El’s head against the glass, and Kal-El blinks confusedly, head lolling to one side. “Won’t let me…what?” Kal-El claws weakly at the leader’s body armor. The man laughs and gives Kal-El a rough shake. “Gonna have to do better than that if you want to stop me, and I don’t think you can. I think I’m gonna kill you, and then I’m gonna kill all your freaky alien babies.”

Kal-El’s face pales and a distressed whine makes it past the hand strangling him. The sound stabs into Dru-Zod’s ears, and he can see winces on the faces of the soldiers around him.

“Two minutes,” Faora-Ul says.

“Scan for hostiles in the surrounding area. Prepare to disembark,” Dru-Zod orders, eyes glued to the screen.

“Not if-not if I stop you first.” Kal-El’s face is red with effort as he pushes the leader’s hands off his throat and grabs at the gun on the leader’s hip. The man grabs it first and shoots at Kal-El. Dru-Zod takes a jerky step forward as he sees one bullet hit Kal-El in the chest. The rest rebound off the glass of the genesis chamber, some hitting the leader, who falls to the ground at the impact.

“Kryptonite detected in the bullets and knives,” the ship says.

Dru-Zod swears as he watches Kal-El sink down with a ragged cry. All of the intruders are neutralized, but the cost is too high for Dru’s liking as he watches Kal-El writhe in pain.

“Ship.” Kal-El pants and clutches at the glass wall behind him to look into the genesis chamber.

“Yes, Kal-El.”

“Ship, are they safe?”

“Who?”

“The kids. In the chamber. Are they safe?” Kal-El grimaces and gasps for air, giving out another heart wrenching cry of pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Dru-Zod catches sight of Jax-Ur hunching over his console with a pained expression.

“Yes. They are safe,” the ship says.

Kal-El’s head falls back against the glass, now smeared with his blood, and he heaves a sigh. “Good. That’s good.” He stops to catch his breath. “I think. I think I’m going to rest for a bit.”

Jax-Ur squints at the screen. “I need a close up to see his wounds. There’s not going to be much time to treat him,” he tells Dru-Zod with a tight voice.

“Ship, give us a closer view,” Dru-Zod says. The screen zooms in until the image of Kal-El, sitting back with eyes closed and blood seeping through his clothing, fills the screen.

Kal-El’s eyes flutter wide open, and he looks around with incomprehension that shifts to worry. “Ship. Where is everyone?”

“They’re on their way.”

“Will they be here soon?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Can’t-” Kal-El chokes and coughs up bloody spittle that stains his lips bright red. “Can’t leave the kids alone. The kids,” he gasps and looks around wildly, “are they safe?”

“Yes, Kal-El.” The ship’s tone has gentled, as much as a mechanical voice can.

“Good. And everyone’s on the way. That’s good. They’ll come back, and everyone’ll be safe, and they’ll all get to have families. That’s important.” Kal-El begins to ramble, likely falling into shock. “Family is really important.” He closes his eyes, and pain flickers across his features. His voice grows strained. “It’s pretty awful, being alone.” He slides sideways and falls to lie on the floor with a muffled thump, and Dru-Zod takes another involuntary step forward. Kal-El groans and twists onto his back, pressing a hand to the glass where it leaves a bloody imprint. “They won’t be alone. They’ll be happy, right, Ship? All of them. They can all be happy now.”

“I do not have adequate data to predict the future of every Kryptonian currently alive and as yet unborn,” the ship says after a pause.

“Doesn’t matter. Future’s bright. I know it.” Kal-El coughs weakly and takes a shaky breath. “I’ve got something better than data.”

“What could be better than data?”

Kal-El grins up at the ceiling, heartbreakingly beautiful in the ethereal glow from the genesis chamber. “Hope,” he says, switching from English to his fumbling, terribly accented Kryptonian. His hand falls from the glass of the genesis chamber to rest on his chest, over the crest of the House of El, and Dru’s stomach twists at the sight. Kal-El’s grin softens to a gentle smile, and his eyelids droop sleepily. “I have hope.”

“No,” someone in the crew whispers as Kal-El’s eyes close and his head falls to the side. A smile still clings to the edges of Kal-El’s lips, and Dru searches desperately for signs of life. Not again, he thinks. He can’t lose another El. He can’t lose the last.

“Landing now.” Faora-Ul interrupts the quiet of the room, and everyone leaps back into action. Dru-Zod’s despair morphs into homicidal rage as he leads his crew to the exit. The floor vibrates from the impact from landing and the gears under the floor engaging to lower the exit ramp. The scum who dared to intrude on his land and attack his people will pay dearly for their crimes.


	12. Dru-Zod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru-Zod and Jax-Ur tend to Clark's injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Jax-Ur make like a tree.

The complications of an alpha attempting to treat the wounds of an omega in heat make themselves known almost immediately to the entire crew, which consists solely of military alphas. Even though the alpha trait had long ago been modified down to something easier to control, Kal-El’s plaintive whines as Jax-Ur begins to examine him have a visible effect on everyone within earshot.

When the crew’s expressions of dazed concern begin to turn aggressive and competitive, Dru-Zod orders them all out to deal with their prisoners and secure the perimeter until only he and Jax-Ur remain. Jax-Ur spares him a nod of gratitude before going back to examining Kal-El for injuries, and Dru-Zod notes that even Jax-Ur’s pupils have dilated until only a thin ring of iris remains visible. Dru-Zod himself is having some difficulty focusing on anything besides the driving urge to protect and claim brought on by Kal-El’s enticing scent and the maddening little pleading noises he keeps making. Dru-Zod had read about the effect omegas had on alphas in history class and scoffed at the idea, but firsthand experience of it is almost overwhelming.

“We have to get him to the medical bay,” Jax-Ur says. He picks up Kal-El under his shoulders, and Dru-Zod carries his legs. Once they set him onto a bed, Jax-Ur sets to cleaning the shards of kryptonite out of Kal-El’s wounds. Kal-El twitches and twists away from the pain, and Jax-Ur scowls as the movement makes the bleeding worse. Dru-Zod pins Kal-El’s legs to the bed while Jax-Ur gets a better grip on Kal-El’s shoulder and starts cleaning again, faster this time.

Kal-El kicks out awkwardly at Dru-Zod, who leans forward and hooks his arms around Kal-El’s shins and knees. This successfully immobilizes Kal-El, allowing Jax-Ur to finish removing all traces of kryptonite from Kal-El’s wounds and bandage them. The process is painstaking, and Dru-Zod can barely think beyond the haze brought on by the powerful mix of his instincts and the disorienting radiation from the kryptonite.

After an eternity of waiting, the treatment is done, and Kal-El’s cries of pain quiet to the occasional whimper. Jax-Ur consults with the ship for what can be done to ameliorate the effects of Kal-El’s heat and cools the temperature of the room considerably, which soothes Kal-El back into an uneasy sleep.

Work done, Jax-Ur carefully disposes of the kryptonite and walks shakily to the opposite end of the room. Dru-Zod means to follow, but as the adrenaline from the medical emergency leaves him and kryptonite induced exhaustion takes its place, he becomes painfully aware of his position between Kal-El’s legs. He aches with arousal at the sight of Kal-El, flushed and breathing heavily, laid out beneath him with legs bracketing his waist, and he inhales deeply in spite of himself. The smell is intoxicating, and his chest rumbles with an involuntary purr. Kal-El arches his back with a sleepy hum of pleasure, and Dru-Zod’s vision grows hazy.

Jax-Ur clears his throat, and Dru-Zod actually bares his teeth and growls at him before catching himself and carefully looking away. He can hear Jax-Ur hastily walk to the exit. “No offense meant, Jax-Ur,” he grunts, muscles tightening as he struggles between competing urges to step back and lean further over Kal-El to stake his claim.

“None taken, General. Possessive behavior is a natural…ahem.” Jax-Ur coughs politely. “I’ll just…” Dru-Zod hears the door slide open, and Jax-Ur’s voice drifts away. “Give you space.”

With Jax-Ur out of the room, Dru-Zod’s instincts loosen their stranglehold on his self-control long enough that he is able to slowly disengage from Kal-El, each inch of distance a struggle, until he can finally step away. Kal-El whimpers at the loss of contact, eyelids fluttering and hips jerking up. Dru-Zod turns away from the sight with a clenched jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes shallowly and wills himself calm. The frigid temperature helps.

Shaken by his visceral reaction to Kal-El, he locks the med bay behind him so that only he and Jax-Ur can enter, not willing to chance the possibility that another member of his crew might be less capable of self-control. By the time he joins Jax-Ur in the hall, he can almost fool himself into believing that he’s put Kal-El out of his mind.

That self-delusion is enough for him to get through ensuring the containment of their prisoners and collecting reports from his crew as they return from patrol. However, at the end of the day he finds himself standing alone and exhausted in the genesis chamber. He stares at Kal-El’s bloody handprint on the glass until a cleaning bot wipes it away and concedes that it might take some time to learn to manage his response to Kal-El in heat and in danger.

He decides that his reaction was in large part due to the factor of surprise coupled with the weakening influence of the kryptonite. He had not expected to have to deal with a sudden onset of attraction to Jor-El’s son due to an accident of biology, but now that he knows what to expect he can take steps to control the situation. Thinking it over, he concludes that while his people are responsible, mature soldiers to the last, if he struggled with his response, it is highly likely that they will too. He makes a mental note to come up with containment strategies to keep Kal-El and his crew separate during Kal-El’s heats.


	13. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark learns something new about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to give Jax-Ur a sense of humor. I have no idea if this is accurate to the character.

Clark wakes to a sterile room slowly, by degrees. He lies still, recollecting himself. Gradually, he notices the cloud of mist his breath creates in the cold room. A wild thought that he’s in a morgue flits through his mind, quickly dismissed as he recognizes the empty med bay around him.

He can hear the door slide open, and he pushes himself into a sitting position to see Jax-Ur walk inside, not looking up from his datapad. Clark watches the scientist go about his work on the other side of the room, letting his mind drift back to wakefulness. As the confusion of sleep leaves him, he gasps, remembering the fight. Jax-Ur’s head snaps up to look at him.

“What happened? The attackers – there were attackers here,” Clark says urgently. “The genesis chamber-”

Jax-Ur holds up a hand to stay Clark’s worries. “No permanent damage was incurred, though your concern does you credit. We dealt with the intruders as appropriate.”

Clark frowns. “You didn’t kill them, did you?”

Jax-Ur tilts his head slowly to the side, sharp gaze examining Clark. “They almost killed you.”

Clark closes his eyes and sighs. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

“Yes, we executed them for their crimes.”

Clark opens his eyes and jerks back in surprise. Jax-Ur is much closer than before, peering at him through some sort of diagnostic device. Clark feels uncomfortably like a bug under a microscope. “Uh…”

“Are you aware of what transpired during the attack on our base, Kal-El?”

Clark raises an eyebrow. “I tried to drive them away, fought really badly, lost, and then…I guess you guys showed up and finished the fight?”

“Do you know why you fought badly?”

Clark rubs a hand through his hair and laughs ruefully. So much for keeping his sickness a secret. “I got sick. I don’t know why – I think maybe I caught the flu or allergies from you guys, when you showed up here. I guess it’s another byproduct of natural birth, huh?”

Jax-Ur steps away from Clark with a wry smile and fiddles with his datapad. “Your condition is due to your natural birth, but not quite in the way you think. You carry the omega gene, something that we no longer select for in our offspring. My best guess is that you have begun to express certain…” Jax-Ur looks up at the ceiling, visibly amused, “characteristics due to our arrival, as we are all modified alphas, meant for the military guild. I have begun to synthesize a compound that should negate this effect of your genetic makeup as it occurs, though I suggest that you maintain a reasonable distance from our base when the time comes as a precautionary measure.” Clark opens his mouth to ask one of the many questions swirling in his mind, but Jax-Ur distracts him by handing over the datapad. “Please read the information I have drawn up for you. It should answer any questions you may have.”

“Ah.” Clark looks down at the datapad. “Right.” He peeks up at Jax-Ur, who is already heading to the door. “Thanks.” Jax-Ur gives Clark a polite nod before sweeping back out of the room, leaving Clark more confused than before. He gets halfway through the first page before his face starts to burn with embarrassment, and he thinks that he may never be able to show his face in New Krypton again.


	14. Dru-Zod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru-Zod finds himself concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's too late, General. You care. Muahaha.  
> This chapter is super short, so I'll post more :)

Dru-Zod is overseeing the disposal of the intruders’ bodies with a great deal of satisfaction when Jax-Ur sidles up to him. “Kal-El is awake and in stable condition.”

Dru-Zod nods as if he knows what to do with that information.

“I presume you will want to talk with everyone about how to navigate our changed circumstances,” Jax-Ur observes with careful neutrality.

Dru-Zod grunts. “I’ll talk to Kal-El first.” He scowls as Jax-Ur turns his head away, presumably to hide a smile.

“He is currently reading some materials I gave him about alpha and omega dynamics, after which he should be prepared to speak with you somewhat knowledgably on the matter. After that is taken care of, may I confer with you over some avenues of research I might follow with regard to Kal-El’s unique genetic make-up?”

Dru-Zod thinks it over. He can understand the importance of research to know how Kal-El’s health needs will differ from the rest of their reduced population, but he doesn’t like the idea of Kal-El as Jax-Ur’s test subject. “We can discuss it later.”

“Sir.” Jax-Ur leaves Dru-Zod to watch his men dispose of the bodies again, but a vague sense of unease overshadows his previous joy.


	15. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru-Zod and Clark communicate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww.

Clark reads everything Jax-Ur gave him about omegas and alphas through once, then starts to read it all over again, having difficulty believing it to be true. The idea of giving birth is the major sticking point, and reading about omega pregnancies makes him so nauseous that he can only read a little bit at a time, jumping to other, less disturbing sections whenever it gets to be too much.

His studying is interrupted by the med bay door sliding open, and Dru-Zod walks in. His jaw is set and he stands just inside the door for a moment as Clark sets down his reading materials. “Hi, General Zod.”

“Kal-El,” Dru-Zod says with a nod. “I trust Jax-Ur made everything clear to you.”

Clark can feel his cheeks heat. “He did.”

Dru-Zod takes a step forward. “I want to thank you, personally, for what you did to protect the unborn future generations of Kryptonians, at great cost to yourself.”

“Oh, it was nothing.” Clark waves a hand and rubs the back of his neck, his face heating further.

Dru-Zod shakes his head. “It was not nothing. It was everything. We would have been lost without you.”

“All in a day’s work for Superman.” Clark laughs uncomfortably.

Dru-Zod tilts his head. “You speak of your work protecting human lives on this planet.”

“Well, not just humans. I guess I’ll do my best to help out Kryptonians, too.” Clark smiles.

“I find your work concerning, knowing that the humans have somehow discovered our weakness to kryptonite.”

“Oh, they’ve known that for ages, don’t worry. I’ve always managed just fine.”

Dru-Zod’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve come into contact with it before?”

“Yeah.” Clark shrugs. Dru-Zod scowls. “It all turned out okay?”

“What if we hadn’t been there to help you?”

“I would’ve had to take it out myself. It would’ve sucked. But I didn’t have to. Because you were there.” Clark smiles again. “Thank you for your help.”

Dru-Zod looks away briefly and grunts before meeting Clark’s eyes again. “We need to talk about your safety during your heats.”

Clark blinks. “My safety?”

“You’re in a weakened state, and your pheromones are strong. We surviving Kryptonians are all edited alphas, which I am sure you’ve read about in the materials Jax-Ur gave you, yes?”

“Yeah.” Clark closes his eyes briefly, too embarrassed to look at Dru-Zod. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble. I’ll stay away during my time, the way I have before now. It’s been working out okay.”

“Yes, well.” Dru-Zod shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “That doesn’t change the fact that you will be in a weakened state, on your own, away from your people.”

“How about this? You’ll be the first one I call, if I run into trouble.” Clark smiles gently at Dru-Zod, touched that Dru-Zod has called his people Clark’s people as well.

Dru-Zod nods. “That is an acceptable compromise.”


	16. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dru-Zod saves the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end, now.

Clark continues to act as Superman despite his newfound status as an omega. He is determined not to let anything change. Being Superman hadn’t been too hard for him before, and it won’t be now, he is sure of it. Unfortunately, the supervillain element doesn’t get the memo, and soon Clark is held captive in a lab, with kryptonite holding him in place. He must be blacking out, because between one second and the next during his interminable wait he finds himself in front of a video camera. The scientist goes on about the advancements he can make now that he has Superman in his power, and it all blurs together in Clark’s mind no matter how hard he tries to focus.

When he next comes to, it’s to the sight of Dru-Zod bending over him in full armor, with Faora-Ul in the background. They have some sort of cutter that they use to get through the kryptonite, and Clark would fall to the floor once his bonds are undone except that Dru-Zod catches him.

Clark smiles blearily and says, “My hero.”

Dru-Zod snorts, and Clark thinks he can hear Faora-Ul laughing. “There is only one person in this room who regularly gets called a hero, and it isn’t me,” Dru-Zod says.

“Don’t worry,” Clark says. “I won’t tell.”

Dru-Zod helps Clark out of the room and then out of the labs, and when they are clear of the building, he says to someone out of sight, “Drop the bombs, now.”

Clark hears a great crashing sound behind him, and he looks to see the lab crumbling to the ground. “There could have been people in there,” he protests.

“There weren’t.” Dru-Zod begins to help him up the ramp of one of the smaller transport ships when they are waylaid by a television crew that seems to have been camping out outside the lab for a shot of Superman.

“Superman! Superman! What can you tell us about your imprisonment? General Zod! Do you have anything to say about your total destruction of the labs where Superman was imprisoned?”

“It was unfortunate that it happened, but it’s over now,” says Clark. “And of course I’m grateful for the help of General Zod and his crew. That’s all for now.”

“Actually, I do have something to say,” Dru-Zod glares into the camera. “Should anyone dare to lay a hand on one of my people, I will not hesitate,” he picks up a chunk of concrete off the ground and slowly crushes it to dust in his hand. “to crush them.”

“Ah.” The newscaster takes a step back, and Dru-Zod takes the opportunity to continue helping Clark into the transport ship.

“Are you sure nobody got caught in the blast?” Clark questions tiredly as he tries to stay on his feet.

“They fled at the sight of us. As they should, for I would not have hesitated to destroy them,” Dru-Zod says.

“Killing is bad,” Clark says, and he sags tiredly against Dru-Zod as they sit in one of the benches along the interior ship wall. Dru-Zod allows Clark to rest his head on his shoulder, and Clark leans sleepily against Dru-Zod’s comforting bulk.

“A necessary evil, in certain situations,” Dru-Zod replies.

Clark holds up a finger. “That’s why it’s important to make situations where it isn’t necessary.” He stops talking to yawn.

“A conversation for another time, perhaps,” Dru-Zod says softly.

“Mm-hmm.” Clark nuzzles into Dru-Zod’s shoulder, fatigue making him forget to be uncomfortable about their close proximity, and he drops back off to sleep.


	17. Clark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Dru-Zod come to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. Enjoy!

Clark grows ever more comfortable with Dru-Zod after the rescue, and it seems Dru-Zod feels the same as he often makes a point of stopping by to check in with Clark during Clark’s visits to New Krypton. Clark feels safe and strong in Dru-Zod’s presence, and he begins to take special notice of the way Dru-Zod talks, the way he looks and moves, the way he is. It all comes to a head one perfectly ordinary day, as Clark and Dru-Zod run into each other near the entrance to the genesis chamber.

Clark has remembered more of those hazy, pain-filled moments when Jax-Ur and Dru-Zod treated his wounds after the attack on the genesis chamber, and it is with some embarrassment that he decided not to mention them or give the impression that he remembered any of it. However, knowledge of Dru-Zod’s care and concern for him has added to the change in the way Clark sees him. Because of this, he notices when Dru-Zod immediately takes a more non-threatening stance upon catching sight of Clark and he catches the way Dru-Zod’s face relaxes minutely, as if he is happy to have Clark there. It gives Clark the courage to step closer.

“Hello, General.”

Dru-Zod inclines his head. “Clark.”

“How are things?”

Dru-Zod launches into a description of the latest building project, and Clark listens and nods along, but what he is really paying attention to is the way Dru-Zod speaks. He stares and stares, and the realization comes crashing down that what he really wants from Dru-Zod is not a conversation, but a kiss. Clark’s heart rate spikes, and he steps ever closer. Dru-Zod stops talking and gives Clark an appraising stare.

Clark takes a breath. “I have a confession to make.”

Dru-Zod raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“It’s easier if I show you.” Clark steps into Dru-Zod’s space and leans forward to brush a kiss against Dru-Zod’s lips before he can think too much about what he is doing. A spark of electricity runs up his spine, and heat pools deep within his body.

Dru-Zod stares into Clark’s eyes, only a few inches away, shocked. “Where is this coming from?”

Clark can feel his cheeks warm up, and he shrugs.

“I killed your father.”

“I know.” Clark tries to rub his cheek against Dru-Zod’s to comfort him, but Dru-Zod turns his face away. Clark draws back and rests his chin on Dru-Zod’s shoulder.

Dru-Zod stares down at him. “You should hate me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Clark darts up and presses his nose to Dru-Zod’s, and Dru-Zod draws back, blinking. Clearly, Clark will have to come up with a better explanation, only he doesn’t have one. He improvises. “I care about you.” He waves a hand to encompass the entire New Krypton settlement. “I care about the people here. I can tell you do, too. And I’d rather not hate you. I’d rather love you.”

Dru-Zod squints, and his expression is a cross between pissed off and perplexed. “Why?”

Clark rises on his tiptoes to try and kiss Dru-Zod’s cheek but only manages to brush his lips against his neck as Dru-Zod turns away. Clark makes an embarrassingly anxious little sound and follows, and Dru-Zod lets Clark step back into his space. Clark tentatively takes hold of Dru-Zod’s armor, fingers sliding between plates for purchase. He’s pretty sure his attempts at seduction are failing, but the rejection will be bearable as long as Dru-Zod continues to at least tolerate him. Clark doesn’t want to think about how terrible he’ll feel if taking this risk leads to Dru-Zod never interacting with him again.

Dru-Zod looks down at Clark’s hands on his armor and frowns. “Jor-El and I grew up together.”

Clark blinks. “I know.”

Dru-Zod looks at Clark disapprovingly. “I’m older than you.”

“I know.” Clark backtracks anxiously as Dru-Zod’s frown deepens. “I mean, no offense, but it’s pretty obvious?” He slowly reaches up to brush his fingers against the silver in Dru-Zod’s hair before quickly drawing his hand away, although Dru-Zod holds still for it this time. “I don’t care. At all.”

“You will outlive me.”

“Wow.” Clark feels a little winded at the thought of Dru-Zod gone. “That’s really depressing. Let’s not talk about that, okay?”

“It is inevitable.”

“Aargh,” Clark groans and leans forward to bump his head against Dru-Zod’s chest, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Dru-Zod’s scent and presence calms him, the way it always does. “Okay, so everybody dies. But until then, we’re both alive, and I really need you in my life. Please.” Clark tries to keep talking, but his throat is a little choked up, so he looks up at Dru-Zod, whose eyes are wide and fixed on Clark. “Please,” he whispers and leans up one last time. This time, Dru-Zod doesn’t pull away, and Clark brushes his mouth lightly against Dru-Zod’s. Dru-Zod slowly responds to him, mirroring Clark’s movements, and Clark feels breathless again, this time at the rush of sensation. Every inch of his body feels hypersensitive to Dru-Zod’s presence, and he is deeply aware of the points where they touch. Clark feels a little dizzy, and he falls back on his heels, pulling their mouths apart.

Clark tightens his hold on Dru-Zod’s armor and steadies himself before looking back up to Dru-Zod, licking his lips a little self-consciously. Dru-Zod’s eyes follow the motion of Clark’s tongue, and Clark stops, his face prickling with heat. Dru-Zod exhales harshly before grabbing hold of Clark’s hip and the back of his neck, pulling him closer for a second, rougher kiss. Clark hums and presses close, sliding his hands up to wind them around the collar of Dru-Zod’s armor. He opens to Dru-Zod’s demanding mouth, and Dru-Zod grunts as their tongues slide together, pushing Clark back into the nearest wall.

Clark whines as Dru-Zod pulls away, but swiftly stops complaining as Dru-Zod lifts him up. Clark wraps his legs around Dru-Zod’s torso and gasps for breath, a little stunned by how fast everything is going. Dru-Zod traces Clark’s bottom lip gently with his thumb, watching him intently. “Too much?” He asks, and the rough grating of his voice makes something in Clark quiver in response.

“No,” Clark breathes. “No, it’s good, it’s all very good.” Clark breaks eye contact and brushes a light kiss against Dru-Zod’s fingers. “It’s just, um.”

“What.” Dru-Zod grows incredibly still, and being so close to such focused attention makes it difficult for Clark to meet his eyes. He looks at Dru-Zod’s chest instead, running a finger over the crest emblazoned there. Clark made peace with his sexual incompatibility with humans a long time ago, but his inexperience is still difficult to admit, a complicated knot of shame and loneliness that he doesn’t like to think about.

“I don’t know what to do.” Clark confesses in a rush and looks up at Dru-Zod anxiously. “I mean, I know the basics, it’s just that, well. Nobody could…I was too different. I haven’t really had a chance to…I don’t…” Clark looks down at where their hips meet, and his breath hitches. He feels a little disoriented. “I want this, but. I don’t know how?”

Dru-Zod’s eyes are closed, and he’s breathing deeply through his nose when Clark chances a glance to check on his reaction. Clark watches, worried, until Dru-Zod opens his eyes, and their burning intensity makes something deep inside Clark loosen and throb with want. “I will show you,” Dru-Zod growls and surges forward to kiss Clark firmly. Clark loses himself in the feel of Dru-Zod pressing into his mouth and the warmth and friction where Clark is wrapped around Dru-Zod’s hips, and doesn’t notice that they’ve reached Dru-Zod’s quarters until his center of balance tilts and he falls back onto Dru-Zod’s bed.

Clark looks up with wide eyes as Dru-Zod pulls his armor loose and lets it fall to the floor before climbing over him. Clark runs his hands up Dru-Zod’s arms, feeling the corded muscle beneath the bodysuit. He hooks his feet up around the small of Dru-Zod’s back, trying to draw them back together again, but Dru-Zod resists the pull. Clark relents, confused, and gives Dru-Zod a questioning smile as he kneels over Clark, hands planted on either side of Clark’s head, thighs tense where they support Clark’s legs lifted up to wrap around Dru-Zod’s hips.

“What do you want?” Dru-Zod asks quietly, looking neutrally down at Clark.

“You.” Clark shrugs and looks to the side, uncertain. Dru-Zod leans slowly down to kiss him again. Encouraged, Clark presses butterfly kisses across Dru-Zod’s cheek. “I want you.” He mouths at Dru-Zod’s ear and down his neck, earning a gentle rumble of a purr. “Everywhere, anywhere. I want you to stay by my side in good times and bad, to support me and accept my support in turn.” He wraps his arms around Dru-Zod’s back in a loose hug. “If you want?” He falls back onto the bed, rubbing his hands up and down Dru-Zod’s arms, trying to soothe his anxiety at asking so much of another person. He need not have felt self-conscious, and indeed, soon his last vestiges of self-consciousness slip away as Dru-Zod sets about doing exactly what was requested of him.


End file.
